Clark Gable supposedly ate it on the night he died. Kit Carson supposedly wished for it on his deathbed. Jesse James apparently refused to rob a bank in McKinnney because it was the home of his favourite. Spanish priests in the ninteenth century preached against its aphrodisiac nature. Eleanor Roosevelt was once refused the recipe for it, and for the last 22 years, American Randall Claywell has been cooking it up once a year for his annual thank you. Chili.

It started the year his son was born – as a thank you. Over the years, the tradition has moved with him wherever he has lived. It’s been going on a few years in Budapest but this was the first time I’d received an invitation. And what a lovely idea it is.

Some of us wait until Christmas to say our thank yous. Some of us use name days and birthdays as an excuse to show our gratitude. And some, like Mr Claywell, throw a party and invite the world and her mother. The invite reads Friends, colleagues, and those who make up a part of my life. This is my way of saying “I’m glad to know you” and/or “THANK YOU”. So come, have some chili and say hello.

Now, chili ain’t exactly top of my list of favourite foods. I’d never in a million years order it in a restaurant. I once took part in a chili cook-off in Los Angeles but couldn’t bring myself to even cook it and instead entered the competition with my Mexican specialty ‘chicket sh*t’ instead. But I’d been invited and I wanted to see this phenomonen for myself.

That wonderful Hungarian writer, Karinthy Frigyes, is credited with defining the concept of six degrees of separation in his 1929 short story, Chains(Láncszemek). On Saturday, 1st October, at Angelika Café, everyone there was separated by just one link. Perhaps because they run the coffee shops he drinks in, or works with him, or met him at a wedding, or gets the same tram, or shops in the same ABC … It kicked off at 2pm and went on all afternoon into the early evening. Seems like everyone was having a good time when I left – and I caught up with some old friends who knew Randall, too … small world.

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Mary Murphy

How it all began

What started as a simple Wordpress blog chronicling the renovation of a flat in Budapest has grown legs. I had no plan for it, other than to keep interested parties around the world informed of what I was up to. My postage budget had been diverted to paint and time was in short supply; blogging seemed an efficient way to stay in touch. Seven years later, it is an intrinsic part of what I do. I write about life in Budapest, the city in which I finally got to unpack my bottom drawer. I write about my travels, about music, food, spirituality, politics, life, death, cemeteries. I write about whatever comes to mind. There is no plan.

When I wrote my 1000th post, I thought it might be time to move to a new website. I was running out of space. If you were a subscriber to stolenchild66.wordpress.com, I hope you've seamlessly transferred to this one. If you've just found me, welcome to a work in progress. Feel free to engage, to comment, to add to what I've written. And if you'd like me to go somewhere for you, just ask :-)

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How it all Began

What started as a simple WordPress blog chronicling the renovation of a flat in Budapest has grown legs. I had no plan for it, other than to keep interested parties around the world informed of what I was up to. My postage budget had been diverted to paint and time was in short supply; blogging seemed an efficient way to stay in touch. Nine years later, it is an intrinsic part of what I do. I write about life in Budapest, the city in which I finally got to unpack my bottom drawer. I write about my travels, about music, food, spirituality, politics, life, death, cemeteries. I write about whatever comes to mind. There is no plan.

When I wrote my 1000th post, I thought it might be time to move to a new website. I was running out of space. If you were a subscriber to stolenchild66.wordpress.com, I hope you’ve seamlessly transferred to this one. If you’ve just found me, welcome to a work in progress. Feel free to engage, to comment, to add to what I’ve written. And if you’d like me to go somewhere for you, just ask 🙂

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